Page 22 of A Knight’s Vengeance

De Lanceau’s voice sent fear blazing through her veins, and an element far more dangerous. She stilled. His hands dropped from her, but he did not ease away. His thighs pressed against her hips. His chest crushed her breasts. His breath rasped over her flushed skin.

She shuddered.

“What were you thinking?” he growled. “You would never have outrun us. Were you hoping to break your neck?”

Her whole body quivered. “Release me.”

“You will not escape me, milady. Not until I have vengeance against your father.” His mouth formed a wicked smirk. “Mayhap not even then.”

CHAPTER 5

“Get on the horse.”

Elizabeth’s blue-eyed gaze hardened, and she crossed her arms over her tattered shift. “Nay.”

Geoffrey looped his destrier’s reins about his knuckles, and looked at her standing beside his horse. Two scarlet spots stained her cheeks, yet she stared back at him without as much as a blink. Her furious blush had not dimmed since he had hauled her out of the forest and set her between his horse and the wagon, curtailing any more attempts to escape.

He narrowed his eyes, willing her to yield, but her glare did not falter. Irritation swelled within him, as hot as the desire he was struggling to leash. He had only to look at her, and her fragrance, the crush of linen against his hands, the warmth of her quivering body, hummed anew in his blood.

He squashed the foolish, inconvenient lust. “I do not offer you a choice.”

“How dare you demand further indignations of me? I shall not sit with my legs dangling either side of that beast.”

“You fear your modesty will be compromised?” When her lips parted on a shocked gasp, Geoffrey chuckled. “Next time I abduct a lady, I will remember to bring a side saddle. I do not have one now, so you will ride like the rest of us.” He smiled his crooked smile that, through the years, had swayed countless women’s hearts. “Unless you prefer to walk?”

Elizabeth huffed and looked away. “Rogue.”

“At last, you concede.” He grabbed the drab woolen cloak draped over the destrier’s saddle and tossed it to her. She let it crumple at her feet. He shrugged and tightened his horse’s girth. “Put it on.”

“If I do not?”

Her insolent whisper pricked his thinning patience. “If you do not,” he said, “I shall be forced to heap further indignity upon you. I may dress you in the cloak myself, even if I must wrestle you to the ground and hold you down to accomplish it. You will make an even more fetching sight with flowers and grass in your hair.” He gave the leather strap a firm tug. “Mayhap I should summon Viscon, and let him take care of the matter.”

She sighed, a sound of reluctant defeat. He cast her a sidelong glance, and watched her pick up the cloak. His gaze skimmed her dirty face. She looked exhausted. Fragile.

As she drew the yards of brown wool over her shoulders, fresh blood glinted on her brow. In her idiotic dash for freedom, she had reopened her wound.

He cursed a stab of pity and lashed his leather bag to the saddle. He had no wish to coddle her on the journey.

Not when in the secluded forest, his blood had heated, his loins had hardened, and his mind had turned to less noble, but far more pleasurable, ways to slake his revenge.

He had intended for her to ride with him, where he could keep close watch on her, but the thought of her enticing body brushing against his… Aye, ’twould be wiser if she did not ride with him, after all.

The thud of hooves brought his head up. Troy led his horse, a sway backed blue roan, to a halt beside the wagon’s spoked wheel. “The men are ready, milord.”

“Good. The lady will ride with you.”

In the midst of adjusting the cloak, Elizabeth stilled. Her eyes widened, and she glanced at his destrier. “I thought⁠—”

“Troy has more patience than I. He will sit behind you and keep you from falling off.” Biting the inside of his cheek, Geoffrey added, “Since you cannot ride astride.”

Her color deepened. “Why you⁠—”

“Milady!” A cloak draped over one arm, the matron squeezed past the roan’s hindquarters and set her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I tried to attend you sooner, but that miserable Viscon would not allow it.” Her gaze traveled over Elizabeth and her face pinched. “My poor lamb. What wretched garments we are forced to wear. I pray they are not infested with fleas, and do not bring you out in a rash.”

The matron shot Geoffrey a withering glare. His lips twitched. She thought to intimidate him? He had clashed swords with bloodthirsty Saracens and triumphed.

He raised his brows.